StarCross'd
by bellecatastrophe
Summary: It was then that Draco Malfoy knew he would die as the Juliet to Harry's Romeo.


**Title**: Star-Cross'd.  
**Author**: BelleCat.  
**Rating**: K  
**Pairing**: Harry/Draco  
**Summary**: _It was then that Draco Malfoy knew he would die as the Juliet to Harry's Romeo. _  
**Warning**: Character death! and major Deathly Hallows Spoilers!  
**Notes: **The storyline from Deathly Hallows that I used is slightly off as I haven't read the book in a long time and don't have it with me - so sorry about that (: Enjoy, and please comment!

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Draco Malfoy had been fighting.

He had realised it didn't matter anymore, who's side who was on. It didn't matter what people believed and being perfectly honest, everyone was too busy to care. In the end, they all had the same cause: keeping their lives.

Harry had made sure that Draco knew their relationship was to be kept totally secret; this plan had originally suited the blonde, who knew that his father would have tortured him and killed them both if he ever found out. However, like most things, keeping their relationship secret had been harder than it sounded. Both boys had to have constant walls erected in their minds (thankfully, Draco was a far better Occlumens teacher than Snape could possibly be and Harry was surprisingly a fast learner) and the facade of hating each other had to be upheld. Draco had no trouble with that.

It was betraying Harry Potter that he couldn't do.

The Golden Boy had laughed when he had expressed these fears, ruffling the shorter blonde head. However, the laughter didn't quite reach his eyes, and the reply was solemn. He had told the Slytherin that he must do what he had to in order to save himself, even if that meant betraying not only Harry but the whole school and people he had grown up with. A small ghost of a smile had crossed The Boy Who Lived's face as he captured Draco's in his large, tanned hands and whispered that although it was selfish, he didn't give a damn as long as Draco escaped unharmed.

That had been the last time they had been together safely. A swift goodbye was exchanged at the platform as their sixth year closed, and Harry hadn't returned for the seventh. Although they had discussed this, and Draco had been prepared to see the empty seat at the Griffindor table, what he had _not_ been prepared for was the onslaught of depression that had followed the sight. He had been troubled all over the summer thanks to the Dark Lord's intrusion into the Manor and had, subconciously, been desperate to see Harry's face. So, plagued by this anxiety, he had set to work betraying the only place he felt truly safe.

The next time he had seen Harry it had been a surprise. The young blonde had expected the reunion to take place in Hogwarts, the green eyed boy storming through the gates dramatically, Granger and Weasley on either side. He could imagine it so very vividly - after all, something like that was _so_ Potter-ish. So when the reunion took place in his own home, with the Golden Trio captured by Fenrir Greyback, Draco had a hard time keeping his face a smooth mask.

Potter's face, meanwhile, was anything but smooth. Draco remembered boasting that he would recognize Harry anywhere - said that the Chosen One could stand out among millions. Yet, there weren't even enough people in the large, fancy room to call a crowd and the only giveaway that the ballooned visage belonged to Harry was his companions and the slits of brilliant green eyes peeking from stretched out skin.

He had tried to lie, coolly, just like his father did, but the irratic thumping of his heart and the panic spreading pins and needles under his skin made him blurt the words out, uncertain and nervous. He had saved Granger and Weasel too - perhaps they would find it suspicious, but he would not have anyone's deaths on his head. In the end, all but Granger were taken down to the cells, and Draco had let the agonising worry for his boyfriend consume him, trying to tune out the pained cries of the mudblood he had formed a... _respect_ for after all of Harry's stories. He was sent to retrieve the goblin, Griphook, and kept his eyes downcast. The youngest Malfoy handed over Griphook, and waited for Harry Potter to make his grand entrance - prayed that he would show up in all his glory as he did, time and time again.

Draco was not left dissapointed. As soon as Harry burst in through the heavy, dark-polished wooden doors his sluggish brain was sent into hyperdrive; Bellatrix torturing Granger - the Dark Lord being summoned - Weasley disarming Bellatrix - Granger being used as blackmail - collecting the wands - and then _Dobby_, of all people, sending the chandelier above crashing into Bellatrix and shards of crystal flying into the pale, Malfoy flesh of Draco's face -

Then, there had been familiar voice in his ear, that voice that plagued his dreams - chuckling that he was definitely not his father's son. Thick, long fingers that he were so accustomed to knotting inbetween the gaps of his prized the wands out of his grasp and when Draco dropped his own slim, alabaster hands from his face, he met a flash of emerald eyes before the Chosen One apparated away. He had then ran, as far as he could from the room, and curled up in a back room on the opposite wing of the house, amongst boxes over stolen goods covered in white sheets and layers of dust. The gangly teen had shut his eyes tight, trying to tune out the enraged and tortured screams that echoed across the whole of the house, and desperately held onto the memory of the blur of jade he was currently living for.

The plans to seize Hogwarts had been made, and Draco's Hogwarts reunion with Harry had again taken place in the Room of Requirement, the memories of what had taken place in said room last year had made a blush creep up Draco's neck and colour his cheeks pink. They both prooved they posessed astounding acting ability, the words escaping Draci's mouth arrogant as always, but grey eyes telling a different story. Then Crabbe - the stupid, faithful idiot - had set off the FiendFyre and they had been running... running... running for their lives and all Draco could think was that he loved Harry, so very much...

Then Harry was there; the triumphant hero, soaring above his white blonde head on a broom, extending a hand out to Draco and the young Malfoy could see that it didn't matter anymore what everyone else thought; they were going to die in this room, and they were going to die together...

He wrapped his arms tight around Harry's waist; the first time since that quiet farewell in the safety of the shadows of Platform 9 and 3/4, and buried his face in the Golden Boy's neck. Draco inhaled and smelt past the smoke of the fire below that aimed to kill, to the smell of the beautiful memories of his sixth year at Hogwarts; of grass and aftershave and safety that he had become enamored with. The smell that had surrounded him in this quaint little room that was burning, burning around them. Silver eyes opened and as Harry plunged downwards, downwards into the terrible fire and Draco clutched at Harry's shirt tighter, laughing shallowly in his ear that he always knew Harry was suicidal. The corners of Harry's lips had turn up and he had laughed, freely and calmly as he brought the broom up again and the sound had been beautiful.

With that, the Golden Boy twisted and turned between the flames of fierce, hot orange expertly - one large, tanned hand clutching Draco's significantly paler one - and they escaped the burning room of happier memories. With that, they landed haphazardly in the hallway outside, the door shutting and closing Crabbe inside. The agony of loss had burned inside Draco hotter than the Fiendfyre and he had fled - fled from Granger and Weasley and Goyle and most importantly, _Harry_ - just as the Castle was penetrated by Death Eaters and spiders. He ran faster, to the upper landing, desperate to escape the happier memories of Crabbe's face that were burning at the edges in his mind. It was only when a Death Eater whom Draco didn't know grabbed his arm in a vice like grip that Draco snapped back into reality and remembered to keep up appearances - like Harry had said they should, like his parents had taught him. He had begged and pleaded with the Death Eater to look at the hair, look at the pale skin - to see that he was obviously Lucius Malfoy's son, a spitting image infact that it was uncanny (memories of Harry denying this vehemently surfaced in his head but he pushed them down). He was still begging when the Death Eater crumpled in front of him and Weasley punched him square in the face.

It was then that he realized it didn't matter.

So, after Voldemort had 'mercifully' allowed the bodies of the dead to be laid in the Great Hall, and the battle commenced again, Draco had fought. He fought alongside halfbloods and mudbloods, amongst those he had grown up with, those who hated him or feared him, and he fought as the only pureblood on Hogwart's - no, _Harry's_ - side. He jinxed the pureblood parents of people he knew, unable to commit an unforgiveable and instead leaving concious but defenceless bodies in his wake. And Draco waited, waited for Harry Potter to join the fight, to give them all hope and win the fight.

It was when the Death Eater whom Draco had been duelling alongside Longbottom had finally fallen to the ground and Draco pushed his now filthy, blonde hair away from his face, exchanging a smirk with the surprisingly brave Griffindor that everything went silent. The pair followed the gaze from where they stood at the stairs to the main entrance, bathed in its warm glow, and Draco had felt his whole being go numb and cold as more Death Eaters exited from the Forbidden Forest and formed a line in front of him. The Dark Lord followed behind, Hagrid following and weeping profusely. He had never liked the great oaf but his heart missed a beat as he hopelessly wished for Harry to make his grand entrance.

Then he saw the crumpled body in Hagrid's arms and stopped breathing.

Everything began to happen in slow motion; the fire that had exploded in his chest from the loss of Crabbe seemed like dying embers compared to the sheer agony that consumed him now, eating him alive and Draco sobbed, trying to open his mouth so that pain would escape from inside of him but instead he emitted a tortured scream laced thick with heartache;

"NO HARRY!"

He could hardly hear McGonnagal's screams, Bellatrix's sadistic laughing, Voldemort's high-pitched, gloating voice as he paced near Harry's limp body, placed gently on the ground by Hagrid, who was still sobbing. All sound was muffled as he drowned in the pain, the agony of loosing _him_. Harry Potter. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived... but hadn't. Draco hadn't been able to breathe or move or think. All he had felt was the loss of the greatest thing that had ever happened to him and all he had seen was it lying before him, crumpled and defeated on the ground. The tears had poured down his face then, uncontrollable as he remembered the irony of his last words to Harry, telling him he knew he'd always been suicidal.

The floodgates opened and then he remembered; remembered everything. The first time he had met Harry - even then the boy had been beautiful, so scrawny and small and underfed. He would have been easy to forget, if it had not been for those amazing green eyes. They had captured Draco from the very first moment green met grey, and in that moment, nothing else had mattered. It had confused the young boy and when the blonde found out who this beauty was, the only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted it as his. The rejection from Harry had deeply cut Draco, so much deeper than sectumsempra ever could.

There was an undeniable connection between them; a chemistry, a magnetism that drew them together. The passion turned into a rivalry, and for years Draco had despised Harry, been jealous of what he had. He had even yearned to be a Weasley for quite some time, envying the close relationship between the whole family and Harry, before he woke up one morning and snorted (in a very aristocratic, _Malfoy_ way) at the thought of ever wanting to be a poor, ginger sod. Still, the want to be close to Harry had fueled their antagonistic relationship.

It wasn't until the sixth year that everything changed. Draco had been crying a few days after the first day back at Hogwarts, scared about what would happen to him and his family now that the Dark Lord was back. Scared that he would have to face the him. Scared of the end he would surely meet. It was then that Harry Potter had walked into the bathroom, the bloody saviour of the wizarding world, and penetrated Draco's soul with those extraordinary emerald eyes. He had saved him, and Harry continued to save him. Their hate had eventually become a begrudging comaradorie and the lines began to blur and before they knew it, both were hopelessly in love with the other. Stolen kisses and embraces were shared, secret meetings taking place in the Room of Requirement or the Owlery, depending where it was safest to go. Harry would laugh breathlessly when they had finished their lovemaking, raking his fingers through the shorter blonde's hair and commenting on how Draco was Romeo, appearing when Harry called from his bird dropping balcony. They had both laughed, but Draco didn't realize how wrong Harry had been until he saw the body at the Dark Lord's feet.

It was then that Draco Malfoy knew he would die as the Juliet to Harry's Romeo.

There had been no sleeping draught that confuse Harry and cause his death, and Draco was glad for that. He would never wish the pain he was experiencing on anyone else, let alone the love of his life. However, like Romeo, Harry had died first. And like Juliet, Draco had been left behind, unintenionally, but nevertheless, left alone. And like Juliet, Draco could not stand to live like that.

There was one thing Harry had asked Draco to do if he could not, one thing they had discussed the previous summer, where everything was beautiful and peaceful in his mind. As one final act of respect, he would do this one thing. For Harry. Taking the shard of basilisk tooth he had aqquired from Borgin and Burks, Draco let out a strangled cry and ran, feet pounding into the grass, wet with rain and blood and tears, and plunged it into Nagini's head. The snake hissed in pain as it slid from the Dark Lord's shoulders and with a quiet thump fell dead to the ground. The Dark Lord's furious cry was loud and high pitched.

As the green light of Avada Kedavra bathed him, Draco thought of Harry and fell to the ground, a smile on his pale face.

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Harry Potter had opened his eyes.

He had heard it all; Hagrid's sobs, Voldemort's high pitched speech, Bellatrix's evil cackle and the cries of those familiar voices... McGonagall, Hermione, Ginny, Ron...  
_  
Draco._

He had felt his heart clench as he heard the sheer agony in his boyfriend's voice, could almost see those beautiful, sharp features twisted in pain in his mind's eye. He helplessly wanted to reach out, to show Draco that he was okay, to walk over and bring Draco's face to his chest so that he could hear his heartbeat like they had done nearly a year ago. But he couldn't; not if he wanted them all to remain safe. For the plan to work, he had to pretend to be dead, for just a bit longer. Then he would run over to Draco, he would hold him and tell him he loved him and he would kiss him, and it wouldn't matter who saw. All he needed to do was play dead a bit longer...

But then there had been a yell, and the pounding of feet growing ever closer, before something fell short of his head and Voldemort let out a high pitched scream. Through his eyelids, a brilliant flash of green had interupted the hazy orange of the light coming in from the main entrance. Harry Potter had opened his eyes...

And met Draco Malfoy's lifeless ones.

His throat felt like it had been torn out, and he tried to scream, but he couldn't. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Draco - the beautiful, blonde bastard who he had helplessly fallen in love with - dead on the ground, close enough to easily touch without anyone noticing. He felt like the pain of loosing Draco was like oxygen - every breath he took in made it seep through his veins, drawing ever closer to his heart. He didn't want it; he didn't want to _breathe_ anymore. So Harry Potter ignored the Grifindor inside him that wanted revenge. He reached out and took the basilisk fang from Draco's hand, and plunged it into his own heart, unseen by those who were fighting around him. He laced his fingers, red from his own blood, through Draco's ice cold, white ones and pressed his lips to the dead boy's. Harry chuckled quietly as he remembered;

_He_ had been right. He had always been Juliet - from the balcony of the Owlery to less than 10 minutes ago, and what appeared to be death. And Draco had always been Romeo, beautiful and under the impression he was dying to be with his already deceased love. However, both Harry and Juliet had awoken, and found that they were left behind. Both Harry and Juliet were the ones left behind. Harry smiled and welcomed death as freely as Draco had, suddenly not caring whether Voldemort would be conquered or not.

He was coming home to Romeo.

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End file.
